


Kaleidoscope Eyes

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dark times call for dark fics, Dele is not a happy boy, Drugs, F/M, M/M, Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, this is pretty dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You’re an absolute arse, Eric, how could you-““I know, would you just stop talking, and -“ More rustling, louder, a muffled hmph.“Did you see his face? He looked like-“That was more than enough. Dele knew what his face looked like. He didn’t need to hear Eric hear it.
Relationships: Dele Alli/Eric Dier, Dele Alli/Eric Dier/Original Female Character, Eric Dier/Original Female Character(s), Mousa Dembélé/Jan Vertonghen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Dele

“Drink, Dele,” Eric said. 

There was a silver can in his hand, matte orange and yellow tangerines painted on the side. Dele grimaced, and against his better judgment, reached out. His fingers scrabbled clumsily against the metal for a moment, moist enough with condensation that it nearly slipped across his palm and splashed to the floor. His pointer finger slipped against the tab, too, and before he could catch himself, the sharp edge drove unforgiving into his cuticle. Red welled up instantly. It was an unfair price to pay, given he had only managed to graze Eric’s palm with that same finger when he accepted the beer. 

Dele shoved the finger in between his lips before Eric had a chance to see. It wasn’t bleeding badly, though, so he withdrew it from his mouth and quickly stuffed it under his waistband. He cleared his throat, nervously glanced around, and took a delicate sip of beer. Dele had never quite figured out how to drink these fancy ones Eric liked so much. The carbonation was so strong Dele thought it might wear the veneers straight off his teeth. And what was he supposed to do with it? Swirl it around in his mouth? Lick it like a lover? Gulp it down so fast he couldn’t even taste the skunkiness, or the bitterness?

Tentatively, he took another sip, slid two fingers underneath his collar, and swallowed forcefully. He glanced around again. It was an old parlor, one that might have served as a library to someone rich and powerful. _Or maybe a sitting room,_ Dele mused. Eric had once told him that rich people kept books for show. _You could tell,_ Eric had said, _because they didn’t cut the pages._ Of course, Dele had no way of knowing whether that was true. His fingers itched, like they wanted him to walk to the wall, pull out one of the richly colored leather volumes, and check to see if it would crack open for him. Whether maybe there were words scrawled in the margins, a message from the bookish baron Dele imagined had once arranged this room. 

He had seldom felt more uncomfortable and out of place than he did in that moment—faded velvet of the sofa biting into his palms, tinny music Dele didn’t recognize worming into his ear, and Eric, gazing attentively at a pair of beautiful women. Skinny, tan, hair tumbling down their backs. 

_Fuck,_ Dele thought, tugging his collar sharply. Eric dragged him to this party, and now he wasn’t even paying him any attention.

_I could be bleeding out,_ Dele thought. _He’d probably still be staring at their tits._ Only belatedly, he realized he had smeared blood from his cut finger onto the sofa. 

_Whatever, it’s the same color._

Eric turned to him, cheeks flushed, and an unseeing twinkle in his blue eye. For a minute, Dele worried he’d spoken the words out loud.

“How about that crisp finish, eh, Del?”

For a split second Dele wondered whether Eric knew how much he hated this beer, knew how much he hated this party. But he pasted a smirk on his face, steeled himself, and opened his mouth.

“Not bad, Dier, not bad at all.” 

A small smile twitched around Eric’s lips. Dele’s chest tingled, even though it was a bald-faced lie. It _was_ bad.

“You catch the notes of tangerine?”

Dele nodded, and hoped desperately his furrowed brow passed for aloof. He did _not_ catch the notes of tangerine, but he figured he better take a few more gulps, just to be sure. The carbonation crept back up his throat uneasily.

“Careful, Del, a few of these’ll put you under the table.”

Dele let out a belch in response. Eric’s two girls turned to look, and one tossed her long, honey hair over her shoulder at him.

_Come on,_ Dele thought, _that_ was barely audible. When the girls looked away, he rolled his eyes up to the time-worn crystal chandelier.

“That’s what happens when you smoke inside, you know.”

“What?” Dele took another sip of beer to make sure his mouth wasn’t hanging open. He instantly regretted it. 

“The chandelier,” Eric said. His blue eyes sparkled as they glanced upward. “That’s why it’s so dirty. The smoke floats up, and sticks right to the crystals.” There was a smile twitching around Eric’s lips, one that ever-so-slightly eased whatever was clenched in Dele’s chest.

“I wonder what it would look like clean,” Dele mused, voice softer than it had been all night. 

“Not as bright as your smile, Del,” Eric winked and turned away. Dele’s heart turned over. _Please don’t blush,_ he begged his traitorous cheeks. 

It was pathetic, really, because that _had_ to have been the stupidest thing he’d ever heard Eric say. Once upon a time, he’d have laughed in his face, roasted him within an inch of his life. But instead, here he was touching his can of disgusting beer to his cheek in hopes of cooling it down. Eric turned back around, and Dele lowered the can quickly. 

“God, you’re drunk, Del, look how flushed your face is!”

Dele laughed, and excused himself to the toilet, even though he’d only had a beer and a few sips in change. Dele was no lightweight, no stranger to alcohol. But it was slightly easier than admitting any alternative. He locked the door behind him, and pressed his forehead to a bit of mirror that was free from puckered rust. 

When Eric invited him to this party, he had accepted with more than a twinge of unease. It wasn’t that he minded partying with Eric so much. He could handle the posh girls and false pretenses just fine, as long as he could have a few vodka sodas beforehand to take off the edge. As long as he could sneak off into the bathroom to down a few extra beers, _light_ beers, when Eric wasn’t looking. As long as Eric drunkenly passed out on Dele’s shoulder at the end of the night.

That unease- it had nothing to do with Eric. Not his blue eyes, not the weight of him, dead drunk sliding down Dele’s shoulder in the back of a cab. He knew Eric would never pick his head up, never slide a sweaty palm behind Dele’s neck, never pull him down into a pile of silken sheets. Dele didn’t mind. He saw a therapist often enough to know he didn’t really love Eric. The idea of him, maybe. Security, money, power, family. _Look at security now, with his fingers stuck down the back of a girl’s dress._ Sometimes, Dele _really_ _didn’t_ love Eric.

_No_ , it had everything to do with the fact that Dele loved to be drunk. So drunk the room spun and voices and faces swam through his vision. Vast chunks of his memory entirely missing, only to patch back in with a cheek pressed against cold porcelain. A creeping suspicion, a pattern, lingering the back of his mind. A small voice that whispered to him and painted him pretty pictures of himself, lying prostrate on the physio’s table. 

_Last time you did this,_ it said, _you did your hamstring in training the next week._

_And then there was the time before that._

But _God_ , he loved to be drunk _._ And according to his therapist, he really wanted to impress Eric. He’d needed to be told why. Obviously, Eric was smart. Eric was funny. Eric had fancy friends who looked like they were raised using bank notes to wipe their arseholes. Eric’s eyes lit up when Dele made him laugh, and how all Dele wanted was to make his eyes do that thing again. 

_Daddy issues,_ whispered his therapist’s voice, mockingly. No matter the fact she’d never actually spoken those words to him. So yeah, Dele knew why; but even so, there was no way he’d ever say no to anything Eric asked.

Dele wet his hands, and splashed some of it onto his face. _Lots of footballers drink,_ he told himself. Everyone knew Joe Hart liked his beverage. And fucking Walker and Stonesy. He thought often on that one night, the last time Harty had got called up for England. Kyle Walker winking at him from across the room. Palm sweaty against Dele’s cold one. Dragging him into the bathroom stall, unnaturally crowded with hard bodies, sweaty faces. Covert whispers. Smiles and nudges.

_Oh,_ Dele had thought to himself. _They have cocaine._

He never said no, even though he always intended to. If you asked him in the light of day whether he did drugs, he would deny it every time. But it was always a different story, six deep, music ringing in his ears at places he never thought he’d be invited, boys he’d never thought would look at him twice tugging on his hand. _I wish I had some now,_ he thought, drying his hands, pressing the fuzzy white towel to his eyes, his cheeks.

He stepped out of the restroom, and scanned the crowd. It didn’t take him long to find Eric, chatting with the same two pretty girls in the same spot he’d left them. His hand trailed over one of the girls’ hips, but his eyes still lit up when Dele slid back onto the velvet sofa and recouped his beer from the walnut table. He craned his neck backward, wondering. Surely someone here had something, surely all he had to do was ask. But who…? 

_Hamstring,_ said the voice in the back of his head. _Nah, fuck off,_ he told it. _I’ll be fine. Just a couple more lines can’t hurt._ He opened and closed his fist, and little napkin crumbs fell into his lap. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding one, tearing it slowly to shreds. He brushed the bits of paper onto the floor, lifted the horrible beer to his lips—it was well near warm—and fisted his other hand in the pocket of his jeans while he downed the rest of his beer.

_Look at Harty now,_ Dele thought miserably. Barely starting, conceding five in a game against his old club. And Stonesy- there was no denying his decline. _I’m next._ The thought snuck up on him before he could push it from his mind, and it almost turned his stomach enough to make him set down the Eric-approved beer, and switch to water for the night. _Almost._

“Cat got your tongue, Del?”

Dele looked up. Eric’s eyes were fixed on him again, almost accusing, like Eric knew what he’d been thinking. He was never sure whether Eric knew how deep Dele’s partying habit went.

“Huh?” he muttered.

“You’re quiet,” Eric said, downing the rest of a beer. “It’s out of character.”

“You seen Stonesy lately?” The question bubbled easily out of Dele’s lips before he could stop it. If Eric thought it was odd, he didn’t let on.

“Yeah, man, met him at a restaurant in Manchester when we played United last month,” Eric supplied easily. “Why?”

Dele shrugged. “Just wondering how he is.”

Come to think of it, he also wondered when Eric had gone to the restaurant. He was certain he recalled Eric eating with the team and going straight to bed. 

“Same old Stonesy,” Eric laughed. _Same old Stonesy._ Dele privately wondered whether the John Stones that Dele knew was the same as the John Stones Eric knew. And even more privately, _I wonder if Eric’s ever done cocaine?_

Instead, he just smiled, lips closed, and unfolded himself once again from the black velvet cushion. 

“Beer,” he explained to Eric’s questioning gaze.

He desperately needed another drink, and one that didn’t taste like it had already been regurgitated. He wandered over to the bar, impossibly nestled between two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, wood the same deep walnut as the rest of the room. _Fucking hell._

“What’s the lightest beer you have?” he asked the bartender.

“Ah, picking one out for your bird?” 

Dele’s face flushed red, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah, that’s it.” 

The bartender turned his back, and Dele chewed on his lip while he scanned the crowd again. _Nobody here is like me,_ he thought _._ He considered leaving, just walking out the door before the bartender turned back around. _How long would it take Eric to notice he was gone?_

But before Dele had a chance, the bartender returned, and slid a bottle across the bar to Dele. It was a metal bottle, kind of like Bud Light Specials he’d seen before. But instead of a deep blue, it was a soft pink. 

“Ladies love this one,” the bartender said, with a wink. Dele barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

It crossed his mind the bartender might have been trying to flirt with him. He let himself consider taking root in one of the cushy red bar chairs, leaning his elbows on the bar, and shooting the man his best cheeky grin. But it wasn’t worth it. Not with Eric here.

“Hey, man.” Dele turned toward the tug at his sleeve.

There was a man there, skinny and scruffy, clutching at Dele’s cuff like he knew him from somewhere.

“What?” He snapped, staring down at the man’s fingers.

“Chill, man,” he drawled. “I just wanted to know if you _wanted_ anything.”

Dele cocked his head in confusion. The man just rolled his eyes, and reached up to tap his pointer finger delicately to his nostril. 

“It’s just, word gets around, and I know you sometimes-“

_Oh._ Dele craned his neck, searching in the crowd for Eric. He was still seated at the table, eyes twinkling as he tugged at the hand of one of the pretty girls. Dele’s heart turned over.

“Yeah, _sure,”_ Dele cut across the other man’s nervous chatter. “Just, not here, ok? Meet me in the bathroom in twenty.”

“Sure thing, brother.”

_I’m not your brother,_ Dele sneered at him, mentally.

The man skittered off into the crowd, leaving Dele with his pink beer. Eventually, Dele’s eyes landed back on Eric’s table. The two girls were seated on either side of Eric now, angled toward him like he was the sun. His hands were clasped behind his head, grin wide and cocky, legs spread.

_Yeah, I’m just gonna go._ Dele turned away quickly, praying no one was watching the back of his head disappear down the corridor.

It was misting outside, not quite raining, but air still thick with dew. Dele wished desperately, absurdly for a cigarette. He’d probably only ever smoked two in his life. Just seemed like now would be a good time to have one. 

He felt singularly dumb, standing out there in the darkness, hiding from his supposed best friend. _Or maybe you came out here to see if Eric would follow you,_ his brain supplied _._ As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was the truth. He knew it as surely as he knew Eric wouldn’t come. He kicked at the gravel angrily, watched the loose stones hopped up and dinged lightly against the hubcap of someone’s fancy black car. 

_Fifteen minutes_. Why did he even ask that guy to wait? He could have gone into the bathroom instantly with that man, gotten a bit of confidence, turned his night around. _What the hell am I going to do for fifteen minutes?_

_I could just have a wank,_ he thought, somewhat madly. Nobody was out there. He could just unzip his jeans, get out his dick, and have his way with himself. It would probably take the edge off, for one. _But what if someone did come out here? What would he do? Just give his cheeky wave and say ‘hello’?_

He laughed at the thought. He palmed the front of his jeans once, just to check. _Yeah, no, it wasn’t happening._ He was probably too sad to masturbate, anyway. In the end, he just stood there, kicking up pebbles and trying to figure out if it was actually raining yet, if he was actually feeling tipsy, until exactly twenty two minutes had past. _Can’t be overeager._

Satisfied, Dele turned once again, and jogged back up the steps to the door. Or at least he tried to. In his mind’s eye, he’d already turned the handle and pushed through to the bright warmth of the corridor. In reality, his sneaker slipped on wet stone, and he slid back down the steps on his palms.

_“Fuck,”_ he swore, angrily, got to his feet, and wiped his grimy palms off on the back of his jeans. For the second time tonight, he was bleeding- this time, just a tiny smear of blood trailing down the wrist. It wasn’t a lot, but the cut was deep enough to sting. _I’m just going to turn around and go home,_ he thought. _Just leave here and never go to one of Eric’s parties again. Put in a transfer request Monday, and be out of town by midnight. Never speak to Eric ever again._

_Or you could just go back inside, do a couple lines, and have a good time._ He looked down at his jeans, already torn, and mercifully not noticeably filthy from the ground. _Fine._

He took a deep breath, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked down the hallway. He reached the toilet, pushed open the door, and-

“Del! I didn’t know you were into this!” Eric’s grinned widely, a manic twitch hovering about his gaze. He was crouched next to the toilet, rolled up bill in one hand, heavy black credit card resting in the other, traces of white powder laced up the side. The rest of it was laid out across the porcelain tray, separated into five generous lines—one for each of the four other men crammed into the tiny restroom in front of Dele. The final line, Dele assumed, was for him. 

“Hey, fellas,” Dele nodded. _Fellas? Really?_

“Rounded up some company, Del, no use partying alone, eh brother?” That was the scrawny man who had offered Dele the drugs in the first place. _I’m not your brother,_ Dele raged silently.He had to be a dealer or something. He looked so out of place, there was no way he’d roll in crowds like this otherwise. _He’s just like me._

The other two were men Dele was pretty sure he had never seen before. They were tall and polished, with a holier-than-thou air about them that men in finance with too much money often had. One of them looped an arm casually around the dealer’s shoulder, and nudged Eric playfully in the side, as if to say, “come on, let’s go.” 

And then it all clicked into place. The parties, the injuries, the way Eric’s eyes glazed over every time the medical staff asked about every latest illness, every latest muscle twinge. Dele’s mouth hung open, but it didn’t matter, because Eric had already lowered his face to the porcelain tray, already raised a finger to his nose. Dele shook his head and pushed the dark thoughts as far out of his mind as he possibly could.

Dele waited there, feeling stupid as hell in this overcrowded toilet. Waited as Eric and his three friends expertly sniffed up their lines, clapped each other on the back with grins just a little too wide.

“That’s you, Delboy” Eric said, pointing at the final line. Dele felt a weird desire prickle to life in his stomach. He shook his head, and crouched down next to the toilet bowl. He picked up the rolled bill, it was a hundred if he wasn’t mistaken, and bowed his head. He breathed in heavily, sharply, taking the powder with him. Out of the corner of his eye, Dele watched the restless men, eager to get back to the girls they’d left. A bit of warm confidence started to bloom in Dele’s chest. 

_Ah, ok, that’s better._

He dragged his finger through the trail of white powder and rubbed it into his gums. It tingled, just like Stonesy had once told him it was supposed to, if the stuff was good. The harshness of it slid down the back of his throat, and he swallowed. _Ah._

The other men were already opening the door, spilling back out into the party. But Eric was still standing there, eyes warm on Dele’s face. _Oh, yes._

_"_ Drinks, Del?” 

_Yes, I need something else to drink._

Eric let his hand rest on the nape of Dele’s neck, and Dele was loathe to move, loathe to relinquish the casual contact. But he couldn’t crouch by the toilet forever, so he stood.

“Dele,” said the dealer, voice petulant and whiny. He rubbed his fingers together, the universal signal for cash. _Oh, right._

He glanced briefly at Eric, who was already looking away, even though his fingers were still tugging at Dele’s sleeve. _No._ He sighed, unwedged his wallet from his back pocket, and shoved a fold of bills into the man’s hand. He slipped out from behind Dele, and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving only Eric, Dele, and a half-opened door. _Like fuck I just paid for all their cocaine._ But Eric was still tugging at his sleeve, his fingers were snaking warmly around Dele’s wrist and pulling him back out into the parlor. So he pushed that thought, and all the others, back into the corner with the ones about drugs, alcohol, and training, and followed.

Dele didn’t know how many more drinks he’d had. Someone started asking the bartender for vodka RedBulls, and Dele was only too happy to follow suit. _Suppose it’s ok when the other lads ask for girly drinks,_ said the bitter voice in the back of his mind. But Dele was too drunk to care. And now he was having a good time. 

These people weren’t really so different from him. Maybe they were even nice. The girls from before sparkled and preened when Dele innocently asked them whether he hadn’t seen them on Love Island. Hands trailed across waists, skirted over hips. Eric smiled that smile and it lit up Dele’s whole world. 

Eric dragged him back to the toilet twice, three times. The first time, Dele’s hope got the best of him. He waited, just inside the door, for Eric’s lips to cover his. But when he let his eyes drop, he saw Eric fumbling with a little white bag instead. _Jesus, how much coke does he have?_ That thought went right with all of the others. Each time left Dele sky high, soaring heights above the rest of the party, brimming with confidence and laughing at Eric’s every word. This was all he ever wanted, to belong, all he thought he deserved… 

And the other boys from the bathroom, they weren’t too bad either. Joyous, even. They had names, although Dele couldn’t presently be bothered to recall them, and banter to last an evening. The tall one, blonder than Eric, had challenged Dele to a game of cards. For a minute, Dele’s anxiety had flared. _I can’t play cards, what am I doing?_

“Horse races, Dele, you ever done horse races?” he yelled. 

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, easily. He’d bet on horses before, what’d this guy think? 

He started laying out the cards, one after another, in a row of four. Hearts, diamonds, spades, clubs. _What are the rules? Nobody told me-_

Dele was about to ask out loud, but then it hit him. _This_ was horse races. The card game. His cheeks flushed red at his own stupidity. But he couldn’t ask now, it was too late. 

“What’s horse races?” asked a girl, in an easy, northern drawl. Dele thanked her, silently. _Maybe I can thank her later, too, in private._

There was betting involved, it turned out. Not real money, just quantities of alcohol. Dele wasn’t too clear on the rules, or how it worked. He just knew he had to bet on a suit. so he did, hearts every time. It seemed appropriate. He won some, and he lost some. But everyone was laughing, and cheering each other on as they drank from a bottle of Grey Goose. He even exchanged instagram handles with a few of the girls, and cheeky fist bumps with the men, who genuinely seemed to enjoy his company. 

When it was over, Dele stood up from the table, flushed with alcohol and new friendship. If only Eric were here to see, _Eric. Where’s Eric?_ Dele scanned the room, but he didn’t see him.

“I think I saw him in the hall,” someone said. “He was with-“

“Wouldn’t bother Eric just now, Del,” said the blond boy, sneering. “He might be busy.” But it didn’t even register. Dele was already skipping out into the hall in search of Eric. 

It wasn’t a long search; he barreled straight into Eric right around the corner. But he wasn’t alone. 

“Oh, Dele, we were just talking about you.” That was a girl’s voice. A girl. 

Eric stood next to her, looking distinctly hot under the collar. _Oh, no._ It was _that_ kind of conversation. The kind Dele didn’t even like to think about. He looked back and forth between Eric and the girl, wildly. She was beautiful. Blonde hair down to her waist, blue eyes turned up at the corners. Tits bulging out the front of her dress like they were just waiting to be touched. _Fuck._

“Do you want to come up, Dele?” Her voice was light and a bit higher than Dele usually liked.

“Do I- what?” He sputtered. God, that waist, though. He imagined burying himself in her, holding her by the hips, and fucking up into her tight body. _Hmmm._

“Eric and I are going to find some privacy,” she fluttered her eyelashes at him, actually _fluttered_ them. Dele gulped. “Do you want to join us?” 

Dele couldn’t help but glance over her cheekbones, her nose, her lips, the tight curve of her waist. _She’s definitely had a bit of work done,_ his brain supplied. Still, her lips were plump, and they’d feel so nice sliding over the tip of his dick. In his mind’s eye, he’d already replaced her lips with Eric’s.

“Yeah,” he said, trying not to give away the clench of his jaw, or how sweaty his palms had suddenly become. Next to him, Eric shuffled his feet nervously. The girl tugged on Eric’s wrist and fixed Dele with a sultry stare as she led him down the hall.

Dele had no idea where he was supposed to walk. He tried to step up beside Eric but there wasn’t quite enough room, so he just lagged awkwardly, a step behind the perfect couple. It took all his willpower to resist bounding up the stairs. His quads were bursting with energy, and Eric, just a step ahead, _come on._

The girl led them to a bedroom, laid out for guests with a fluffy white comforter and an abundance of pillows. Dele’s eyes fixed on a champagne bucket with a night stand.

“Anyone else fancy a drink?” Dele asked, throat dry enough that his voice hitched.

“Yeah,”

“ _Thank you,_ Dele.”

He peeled back the foil wrapper with shaking hands, carefully eased out the stopper, a little more, a little more- it opened with an ample pop, and just a little bit of the champagne trickled over the edge. Dele exhaled. 

There were only two flutes. _Of course._ He figured a little sharing might not be a terrible thing, though, so he picked up one of the glasses by the stem, and filled it to the brim. 

A sigh rose from the bed, and Dele turned his head. Eric had his big hand splayed out across the girl’s bare hip, pushing her down into the pillows. Her chest was heaving, and she had his lip snagged between her teeth. Dele could see the little red divots where she bit into it. Eric showed no signs of coming up for air, and Dele was tempted to toss the glass of champagne over them, or maybe sneak out while they were still all wrapped up in each other. _The perfect blonde couple._

But then she pulled back, and fixed her sultry stare on Dele. “Were you just going to watch us, or?”

He set the glass of champagne down on the night stand, and drew his hand up by her cheek, traced a thumb across her kiss-bitten lips. She closed the distance first, and he fisted his hand in her hair. Her mouth was soft, and when her tongue darted out to brush his, he felt his cock twitch against his boxers. She tugged on his belt loop, and he clumsily folded his long legs onto the bed, crouched next to her like an awkward cobra. Her tits brushed against the front of his shirt, and was drunk enough to lose himself in the kiss, in the feel of his hands tracing her waist. By the time she pulled back, he was more than half hard. Dele opened his eyes.

Eric already had her face between his hands again, and he wasn’t even looking at Dele. His eyes traced the path of Eric’s hand, over the swell of her chest, down her stomach, underneath the waistband of her skirt. Dele sighed and unfolded his legs, scooting back against the pillow, swiping a frustrated palm across his semi. He had no idea how long he watched them, just sat there, squeezing his dick over his zipper, waiting his turn.

Dele watched, and the girl threw her head back. Eric had started to work his big fingers into her, and he could actually hear how wet she was. _God, what that must feel like._ Dele would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined it. His eyes fell on Eric, and his breath caught in his throat. Eric’s bare chest shone in the moonlight, the flex of his abs mesmerizing. And his dick, rock hard and straining against his jeans. She covered it with her tiny hand, and Dele felt swelled into his own palm, even as resentment burned in his gut. 

“Do you even want me here?” The words slipped out before Dele could stop them. He almost clapped a hand to his mouth, but that would have been even more embarrassing. 

“Of _course_ we want you here,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. She was already reaching for his hand, but Dele wasn’t even looking at her.

Eric had pulled back, eyes wide and surprised. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Eric?” Dele said, trying to keep a quiver out of his voice. _Where the fuck did that come from?_ When Eric finally spoke, his eyes were nearly black.

“Dele,” he said. Dele had never heard his voice like that. Deep, husky. He tried not to think about the fact that it was probably because he’d just had his fingers in a girl whose name he didn’t even know. Dele’s chest fluttered and his breath hitched in his throat, waiting on an affirmation he couldn’t even admit to himself he wanted.

“Kiss him,” said the girl.

For a long second, Dele’s mind ran blank. _What is he going to do? Where is he going to touch me? Is he going to stay hard?_ He waited, skin buzzing, but the touch never came.

“Sorry, Dele,” whispered Eric. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the white comforter, studiously not looking at Dele, or the girl. She, for her part, looked awkward, eyes flashing back and forth between the two of them. Finally, she shrugged imperceptibly at Dele, like it was no big deal. _Right, no big deal._

Silently, numbly, Dele stood. He turned half toward the door, but made no attempt to hide it as he fixed the enormous bulge in the front of his jeans, tucking himself into comfortable walking position. He could feel Eric’s eyes on him now, knew he was watching. 

_Fine, let him see what he’s missing._

As regularly as he could, and without any particular hurry, Dele walked out the door. He expected to feel something when the door closed. Anger, or maybe loss. But he didn’t feel anything at all. Just the same, cold, dead feeling in his heart that had sat there all night. The same buzz of cocaine. He stood there, lips slightly parted, cock heavy between his legs, waiting. 

_“Eric,-“_

_“Don’t.” A rustle of sheets._

_“You said-“_

_“I know what I said”_

Dele thought about walking away, but he didn’t think he was capable of moving. His feet, rooted to the floor, jaw clenched tight caked with cement. He could tell he was flexing his fingers—always somewhat undesirable side effect of the drugs—if he flexed them too far they might break straight off, but he couldn’t stop. _What did you say, Eric?_

_“You’re an absolute_ arse, _Eric, how could you-“_

_“I_ know, _would you just stop talking, and -“ More rustling, louder, a muffled hmph._

_“Did you see his face? He looked like-“_

That was more than enough. Dele knew what his face looked like. He didn’t need to hear Eric hear it. 

Suddenly, as if he was animated by a set of translucent strings drawn up to the ceiling, Dele felt his feet move, his hips shift, and he watched himself from above as he stormed off down the hall. 

He called a cab. What else was there to do? He wasn’t going to stay here, in Eric’s brother’s friend’s house, or wherever they were. It was probably a good forty minutes back to the city, but Dele didn’t really care. He had enough cocaine in his system to make it until dawn if he wanted to. He stopped quickly behind the walnut bar, empty now, and grabbed a couple beers for the road. 

Outside, he leaned up against the brick wall, right where he’d waited earlier. _I should have just gone home then. Made an excuse, said I got invited to a better party._ Now he was just a mess, drunk, aching semi in his jeans, and nerves still buzzing from the coke. The head of it had long since worn off—now he just felt tense, brittle. He needed to relax. He curled a knuckle and dug it hard into the knot of his jaw. 

He’d finished one of the beers by the time the taxi pulled up. _Maybe I should stop drinking,_ his brain supplied. He didn’t listen to it, just cracked open the next can. It was the same tangerine beer Eric had handed him earlier in the night. _How many beers ago was that? Seven? Eight?_ He felt himself hiccup on the harsh carbonation, but at least he couldn’t taste it anymore. 

“You ok, buddy?” the cab driver asked. 

“‘M fine,” Dele muttered. “Just fine, mate.”

Dele stumbled up the steps to his house. He was blind drunk now, only vaguely aware of the cabbie calling him back for his phone and his keys. Only vaguely aware of his fingers as he narrowly missed slamming the front door, the air rushing through his throat as he yelled at the heavens. He wandered into the kitchen, bathed in the soft white light of the open refrigerator. _Just one more beer._

It was a Heineken, mercifully. _This is all I probably really needed,_ Dele thought. He dragged his tired body into his gaming room, body collapsing heavily into the welcoming couch. 

By the time he’d cracked opened his beer, and unzipped his pants, Dele was already nodding off. He curled his rigid fingers around his stiffening cock, and let relief carry him off to sleep. 


	2. Jan

Jan already knew Eric was spiraling. He’d been around long enough to remember what it looked like. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment the realization hit him. But it was definitely sometime before that cold February morning in the park. Long enough ago that Jan hadn’t really blinked when Eric had texted him after midnight, just three words, _can we talk._ Jan didn’t know what Eric needed to talk about, but it was no surprise how haunted Eric looked when he loped toward him out of the mist.

“Erm, Jan.” 

His smile was sheepish, oddly off kilter. Eric wasn’t usually one to stutter, but here he was, tripping over Jan’s name and shuffling his feet against the icy curb.

“Do you know where I can find good molly?”

Jan didn’t start at that, either. If anything, he was more surprised Eric needed to ask. He watched Eric’s face, watched his eyes glancing about, teeth worrying his lip. His dog barked innocently.

_No,_ he wanted to say. _I’m 33._ As if that were an explanation. _I have a family now._ But for some reason, he couldn’t form the words.

“My usual guy said he could get some,” Eric continued. “But Del and I popped it and we didn’t feel a thing. Nothing at all! It was like,” he paused, searching. “I don’t know, not what I expected.”

“Dele?” Jan’s own voice almost surprised him, puffing a white cloud out into the air in front of him. 

Eric’s features crumpled for a moment, even though he’d been the one to drop Dele’s name so casually, just moments before. _What’s that about?_

“It’s just casual, Jan. We just want to have a bit of a laugh.”

_Yeah, that clears it all up._ He had absolutely no idea whether Eric was talking about Dele, or the drugs. Jan suppressed a laugh of his own.

“Just a bit of a laugh, eh?” There was absolutely no way he was letting this slide. “You and Del. As long as you’re being safe.” He hadn’t said much, but he felt his insinuation was still clear.

“I’m not- we’re not-“ Eric sputtered. His face went as purple as Jan’s scarf. _Ah, I see._

“Hmmm.” _Not yet, anyway._ “I meant with the drugs, Eric. Are you being safe with the drugs?”

“Yeah, no, of course we are, you know that.” Eric’s good-natured smile was back, but the manic glint lurking just behind his eyes told Jan all he needed to know. He wondered when he started sounding like such a father. Probably around the time when he became one.

“I might know a guy,” Jan said, against most of his better judgment. 

Suddenly, he just really wanted to end this conversation. Eric standing there looking so haggard… it was breaking his heart. He looked more than expectant. Desperate, almost. 

Jan looked at the the toe of Eric’s shoe. “I’ll let you know in a couple days.”

“Yeah, thanks man.” With a wave, Eric lurched off, taking his loyal black dog with him. Jan just stood there, perched on the curb, staring out into the early morning mist where they’d disappeared. 

It was a Sunday, but Jan still had to go to the training ground in the afternoon. Rehab, for a strained hamstring. Seemed like he picked up one of these every few months, these days. _I’m old,_ he reminded himself. _It’s just that I’m just old, I’m 33._

His legs protested when he first got on the bike under the watchful eye of the trainer, but they loosened up, mercifully, as he spun. He let the man stretch him out, massage the sore bit with some sort of electric gun.

_God,_ Eric was playing a dangerous game. It was one Jan knew all too well. He’d escaped largely unscathed, lucky even. He’d always taken care of himself, though. Always drank enough water, always gotten enough sleep. But Mousa, that was a different story. What had started back in Amsterdam as a casual habit grew into a lifestyle. While Jan had carefully monitored his diet and his sleep, and felt his body support him as he grew into a solid, dependable player. He told himself Mousa did the same, but he couldn’t ignore the truth.

Mousa never shared any of the vitamins or herbal supplements Jan offered him after a trip. He turned up to training with dark rings under his eyes, and sometimes there was that certain tension about his body that always made Jan wonder whether Mousa was getting high without him. And then the injuries started piling up. One after another, and before Jan really knew what was happening, _China_ was on the table… 

Jan could’ve stopped any time, really. And eventually he mostly did. No matter how much he told himself Mousa was the same, he knew Mousa had a problem, knew that was in large part due to Jan’s involvement. Maybe if Jan had stopped sooner, Mousa would have- But _God,_ he loved those nights. _Loved…_

In the end, Mousa did get shipped off to China to rest his broken body. Jan stayed in London. It wasn’t the same without him. Even after he was married, they’d still rent out a room, preferably something with a terrace and a hot tub. The four of them, high as anything, his hands rubbing over his wife’s soft curves while Mousa sucked his cock. Soft water lapping at his hips. _Ah, how good you used to have it._

Jan mentally shook himself. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about this. He was off the treatment table now, and the trainer was to his right watching as he lunged in different directions. He glanced surreptitiously to his right, and found the trainer’s eyes were fixed on his iPad. But still, it would be much better _not_ to get all hot and bothered, if he could help it.

He finished his exercises, showered, and wandered to the canteen. It was mostly empty today, just a group of academy players. Juan and Erik were there—unsurprising, as both were injured and stuck in rehab like Jan. Erik tried to wave him over, but Jan just nodded. He couldn’t deal with the Argentines today, he just couldn’t. Instead he sat by himself, chewing on his food without really tasting it, taking much longer than he actually needed. 

Jan drove home the long way. He wasn’t really sure why. Halfway home he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. He already knew who it was and what they wanted. He didn’t even bother checking it until he’d already pulled into his driveway, already sat silently in the dark for a good twenty minutes. Sure enough, it was Eric.

_Update?_

Jan rolled his eyes.

_I said I’d keep you posted._

He debated deleting the period. _Eric’s struggling,_ he thought. _I should be nice._ But in the end he kept it. He _had_ said he’d let Eric know in a couple days. Nonetheless, Eric responded almost immediately, and Jan groaned. 

_Couple of us out tonight. Come by?_

Jan hadn’t been expecting that, and he didn’t even bother with a response. He knew Eric was really only asking as a courtesy. Besides, he never really partied much anymore. Drinking wasn’t worth the hangovers. Now and then, after a bad game, or a rough practice, he’d pack a bowl of weed, head out to his garden, and smoke until he barely remembered how to walk. But the harder stuff? That had stopped with Mousa. No cocaine, no molly. No acid trips by the sea. 

Tonight was going to have to be one of those nights. He trudged through his own front door heavily, and Sophie knew without asking Jan needed to be alone. She offered to put the kids to bed before he could even get a word out. He nodded gratefully, grabbed his favorite old coat, and headed out into the garden. 

He kept a small, bronze bowl, a grinder and a couple little baggies of weed rolled up in the sleeve. He ground up a few buds absentmindedly, and packed it into the small, round hole. 

He took a hit, and suppressed a cough. He didn’t know how long he sat there for, nearly stuck to the chair, just letting the weed cloud in around his troubled thoughts. It wasn’t nearly as cold as last night had been, and Jan was thankful. He took out his phone. 

_Wow, nearly 1._ He silently blessed Sophie for giving him so much space. He picked at the logo on the back of his phone case, thinking.

_It’s almost 8 am in China._ Before he could stop himself, he dialed the number. 

“Hi, Mous.”

“Jantje,” his voice sounded as far away as he actually was. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the garden. You?”

“I just woke up. I’m still in bed.” If he’d been anywhere else else, maybe Jan wouldn’t have asked.

“You remember when we used to…” _used to what? Party? Fuck? Talk?_

“Are you high?”

“Maybe,” he drawled. Shit, he hadn’t realized how slow and lazy his voice sounded.

“Do I remember what, Jan?”

Jan exhaled, and tried again. 

“You remember how we were when we first moved to London?”

“Bits and pieces,” Mousa deadpanned. 

_“Mousa.”_

“I remember we played a lot of football. Not doing much of that anymore,” he sighed. Jan could almost see him rolling his eyes. “We won matches. We were so young.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Mousa said, slowly, lazily. “I remember. Getting high with you.”

Jan hesitated, realizing that was only half of what he wanted Mousa to say.

“I remember your lips on my-“

“Ok,” Jan cut him off. Jan remembered too, all too vividly. 

“You asked.” There was a rustling noise. Jan pressed his ear to the phone. 

“I miss it,” Jan whispered. 

“Jan, you can get drugs without me. You don’t need me there to-“

“I never cared about the drugs, Mous, you know that.” There was silence on the end of the line, and for a minute Jan worried he’d said too much. 

He was seriously considering hanging up the phone by the time Mousa responded. 

“I miss it too, Jan.” 

Mousa’s voice was still thick with sleep, and Jan’s stomach twinged. It wasn’t like Jan didn’t already know how Mousa felt. But they’d never said it out loud, never _admitted…_ Hell, Jan couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had sex. It could’ve been any time, maybe the one where Mousa and his girlfriend welcomed him into their bed, or the one where Jan had cornered Mousa in the locker room after training, when everyone else was gone, pressed him right up against the cold white marble and…

“Reminiscing?” Mousa’s voice was low, but heavy enough to dislodge Jan from his memories.

“Yeah,” Jan said, letting his breath escape between his pursed lips in a low his. “You?”

“I have a bit of time.” Mousa’s breathing on the other end of the line had grown heavy. This was a very interesting development. One that part of Jan liked _very_ much.

“Oh?” he said, hand already trailing over the crotch of his pants.

“Yeah. I do,” Mousa said slowly. 

“I’m in the garden,” whispered Jan, guiltily. “What if someone-“

“Isn’t it one in the fucking morning where you are?” Mousa’s voice was lazy, cranky. Jan could still hear the sleep clinging to it. But…

“I _can’t_ -“ His voice came out all choked, like it had caught on one of the tendrils of guilt winding their way through his ribcage. 

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

Jan didn’t say anything at all, and Mousa sighed. Jan just knew he was about to make a half-hearted excuse and hang up on him. But Jan wasn’t quite ready.

“No, wait,” he blurted.

Mousa sighed again, but it was a different sigh this time, lighter. For a minute, he just stayed there, looking up at the murky sky, focusing on steadying his breath.

“How’s Naomi?” 

“She’s good, she loves China. We’re good.” He could hear Mousa’s smile through the line, and that warmed his heart too.

“Look, I’m worried about Dier,” Jan sighed eventually. “He asked me to meet him this morning in the park. Asked me for drugs.”

“That’s not necessarily a problem,” Mousa countered. 

Jan huffed. 

“Or maybe it is,” he continued fairly. “Why are you worried?”

“He reminds me of you.” Silence. For a beat, Jan worried absurdly that he’d overstepped.

“He still have Dele to pull him back from the ledge?” 

_“Dele?”_

It wasn’t that Jan didn’t think Dele was capable of reining Eric in, the question was just unexpected. It hit Jan like a kettlebell square in the chest. _Had Jan really been the one to pull Mousa back from the ledge?_ No, if memory served, Jan had stepped back all on his own, leaving Mousa to free fall…

“Dele’s a smart boy, you know that.” 

“That’s true.” Jan chewed his lip. He remembered the first time Dele had dropped a hand to his shoulder during half time. _When you come off your line, they’re pressing you. Play the ball sooner, over the top to me. I’ve got so much free space I’m drowning in it._ He’d done so, and Dele had laid the ball off to Son, who instantly scored. He’d wandered off the field that day feeling an odd mixture of pride, jealousy, and admiration. 

“And at least Dele has a decent therapist,” Mousa was still saying. “Is Eric still insisting he doesn’t need to go?”

“Yeah,” said Jan, slowly, uncertainly. The first team spent so much time together, it was impossible for them not to know each other’s business. He imagined telling his own therapist about this conversation for a minute, and nearly choked. _The ledge…_

_Does he still have Dele to pull him back from the edge?_ An image flashed into Jan’s mind, of Dele, arms wrapped around Dier’s shoulders, spindly legs clasped around his waist as Dier piggybacked him all over the field. His face filled with joy, and acute longing.

“Actually, I think Dele’ll go right over the edge with him,” Jan said suddenly.

“Yeah? Are they fucking?” Jan nearly choked on his own tongue. _I love your bluntness._

“Not yet,” Jan said.

“Are you sure? I always thought…“

“No, I’m pretty sure.” Somewhere behind him, Jan was vaguely aware of a light turning on.

“Ah, well.” _Footsteps_ , light on the stone patio. 

“Mous, I gotta go, it’s late,” Jan yawned. 

“Take care, Jantje.” And then he was gone.

Sophie snaked her cold hands around his shoulders, and Jan let the phone slide from his hand.

“Are you ok?” she asked. Jan leaned into her and hummed.

“Come inside, love.” He got up slowly, followed her in. 

Later, after he’d changed into a t-shirt, brushed his teeth and washed his face, she asked him again. Her tiny hands were all curled up in his, and he squeezed them lightly.

Three words, whispered. Heavy as they stumbled across the pillow between them. 

“I don’t know.”


	3. Eric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric has a rough weekend.

Eric pressed his head into the cold glass. He imagined himself floating outside the car, watching his forehead turn white, pink, wormy wrinkles bunch up where his skin met the window. He felt his forehead grow cold and clammy, but he didn’t move, just rested his eyelashes on his cheeks. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he ignored it. His head pounded, and pounded, and pounded, the same words beating themselves into his temples. Again, and again, and again. 

_What am I doing?_

There was a storm on the horizon. The driver had commented on it when he got into the car, and Eric had grunted angrily. 

_Can’t fucking wait to spend all weekend in fucking Cambridge in the rain._

He whipped out his phone, opened his WhatsApp conversation with Dele.

_Mate do you have any coke left?_

He’d tried to get some from his dealer before he left, but it was too short notice. The man had told him to ask around instead. _Fucking figures,_ Eric thought, rolling his eyes. _All this money and I can’t even get some decent coke on a Friday._

His message to Dele already showed as read, but there was no response yet. He hovered his finger over call button, desperate to get Dele on the line, beg him until he gave him what he wanted. 

_What? No,_ Eric told himself. _He’s probably just checking to see if he has any._

He chewed on his lip. He really didn’t want to ask Jan again, but he might not have a choice. He opened Jan’s conversation, stared regretfully at the double check under the last message he’d sent. 

_Thanks, man, we should do it again sometime._ Jan had never responded. Eric swallowed his pride, and started to type.

_Do you have anything?_

He didn’t want to seem desperate, so he quickly followed it up with, 

_I’m headed home this weekend and my brother asked me if I could get some._

It was a lie. He wasn’t headed home, and his brother hadn’t asked him. 

_What do you need?_

Eric’s heart raced when he read Jan’s text. It was going to be fine. He was going to get cocaine from Jan, he’d have it all weekend to help him through. 

“Can you turn around?” He nearly startled himself with his voice, too loud and harsh for the silence.

“Sure thing, Mr. Dier,” said the driver, smoothly decelerating. “Where to?”

He reeled off Jan’s address from memory, and the driver made a U-turn. 

_You got an ounce?_ he typed out to Jan. 

_Isn’t that a lot?_

Fuck, is it? Eric couldn’t think straight. 

_I’ll pay you._

_I’d hope so._

Just a bit too late, he remembered the excuse he’d given about his brother. 

_My brother is having a party._

Eric clicked back to Dele’s text. Dele still hadn’t responded. 

_Nvm, I got it from someone else._

He hoped it made Dele jealous. He didn’t really know why, but he was angry, and he wanted Dele to know he let him down. 

_Good. I don’t have any anyway._

Eric locked his phone, slammed it down on the seat angrily, and went back to staring out the window.

Jan answered the door in his towel. Eric couldn’t help but drop his eyes to Jan’s pale abs, sharp cut lines. 

Jan cleared his throat, and Eric reluctantly met his gaze.

“Eric. I didn’t realize you were coming right now,” Jan stared at him accusingly.

“What,” Eric said, “Don’t you have it?”

“I do, it’s just,” Jan swallowed. “I was in the shower. With my wife.”

“Don’t you fuck men?” He blurted it out before he could stop himself. _God, a year ago he never would have said something like that._ There was a split second of hurt in Jan’s eyes, but then he composed himself.

“What, I can’t have both?” Jan said innocently. 

Eric’s eyes nearly flashed downward again, but he caught himself almost instantly. _What are you looking for, Eric? An erection?_

“Sorry. Sorry, I just,” Eric trailed off. Jan was still staring at him.

“Anyway, do you have it?” 

Jan licked his lips. “I can’t give you an entire ounce of coke, Eric,”

“What? I said I’d pay you.” Eric’s mouth went dry, and Jan looked at the floor guiltily. 

“I don’t even have that much,” Jan said. His eyes darted from the floor to Eric’s left shoulder. 

_Liar._

“I’ll take whatever you have.” 

“Eric.” Jan fixed his eyes on Eric’s, voice gentle. “You’re going to see your _parents_.”

“I said my brother was having a party,” he mumbled, squirming under Jan’s concerned glance. 

“I’m supposed to believe your brother and his friends can’t get their own drugs?” He folded his arms across his chest. He should have known better than to lie, Jan was too smart for this.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eric said dully, staring at his feet. 

“Eric, I-” He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Are you alright?” 

There was real kindness on Jan’s face. For a minute Eric considered telling him—Jan _didn’t_ know what Eric’s walking into. If he did, maybe he’d feel differently…

But in the end he couldn’t open his mouth to form the words. He ran a hand across his buzzed hair and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” Jan said, arms still folded across his bare chest.

Eric sensed he had a bit of backtracking to do. He knew it was a bad look, showing up on Jan’s doorstep like this. Jan was clearly alarmed.

“Listen, mate. Didn’t mean to drop in on you like this, I was just in the neighborhood, and,” Eric clocked that Jan’s expression hadn’t changed one bit, and he licked his lips. 

“You know, it’s really fine. I didn’t really need it anyway. Hey, when I get back, you down for trivia at the pub?” 

One of the corners of Jan’s mouth twitched up, and he dropped his arms to his sides. _There._

“Yeah, sure thing mate,” Jan said. 

Eric breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d _really_ like to go fuck my wife.” 

And he shut the door in Eric’s face. 

Eric could tell the driver was pissed at him, not that he’d ever say. _All the way back to London for a conversation with Jan Vertonghen._ He closed his eyes exhaustedly, and let forbidden images of Jan fucking his wife in the shower dance behind his eyes. _Wonder what Dele would say if he knew what I was thinking about._

Jan morphed into Dele, and Eric dozed off to a highlight reel he’d later force himself to forget— Dele sliding his long, pink cock up between Jan’s wife’s ass cheeks. 

The storm was in full force by the time they arrived in Cambridge. The driver pulled the car up on the curb, close enough to the door Eric would barely get wet. Eric sat there for a moment, steeling himself, even though the poor man was getting all his luggage out of the back by himself in the rain. _Once upon a time, you would have helped,_ said Jan's voice in his head.

The door of the house opened, and a girl ran out. The rain quickly plastered her long, blonde hair to her forehead, rendered her shirt just a little bit see through. Eric swallowed and opened the door.

She was on him in an instant. Smile pressed into his neck, arms clasped tightly behind his back. He could feel her heart beating quickly against his chest, and he touched his lips to her scalp. 

“I missed you, baby,” he whispered. 

“You’re late,” Megan said. Eric could tell she wasn’t really mad, just excited. He was sitting on her bed, but she was fluttering around, opening his suitcase, taking his wet jacket, pressing kisses onto his cheeks. 

“I wanted to fuck you as soon as you got here,” she sighed. “But we have dinner reservations. I hope you don’t mind.”

_No, he certainly does not mind_. He was desperate to put a few hours between his depraved thoughts of Dele and his inevitable orgasm. She looked so regretful, though, he reached out and pulled her down onto the bed.

He rolled over onto her, and kissed her fiercely. She yielded underneath him, wrapped her legs snug around his back. 

“I don’t mind, Megan,” he whispered into her ear. Her whole body relaxed, and Eric felt himself harden against her hip. _Oh, thank god._

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

Dinner was a breeze. He was so relieved that she could still make him hard that for a second he was able to let his guard down. But then she dragged him out to drinks with her friends. And they were the worst sort of Cambridge students. All stuck up and pretentious. 

She always called him _Ryan_ in front of them, for God sake. It suited him just fine. Nobody needed to know the famous Eric Dier was dating a student. A hot, but decidedly _nerdy_ girl from Cambridge. This way, she was free to focus on her studies, and he could fuck whomever he liked in London, not that she knew anything about that.

Her friends thought he was a software engineer, and he could tell they didn’t really approve. They were posh history types, ones who would go on to politics, or PhDs. He was sure they came from money, sure that if they knew who he was, who his family were, they’d cozy up to him like he left a trail of money wherever he went.

But as it was, he was Ryan the software engineer, and they talked down to him like he was stupid. Like he didn't have the class to sit at the table and chat with them. What he wouldn’t give for a fat line right now. Jan you fucking piece of absolute shit. 

_The one with the sandy hair is kind of cute,_ Eric thought. Absently, he wondered if Megan had ever cheated on him. _Maybe,_ he decided. She was only human, after all. But on the other hand, he was Eric Dier, so maybe she hadn’t. 

The drunker he got, the more he couldn’t help his eyes lingering on the boy’s pink lips. _What would it be like to press him up against the wall and kiss him?_ He averted his eyes for the fiftieth time, wondering whether Megan had ever thought about doing that. 

_Fuck you, Dele._

Eventually, Megan slid her hand into Eric’s, and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled a little, and she caught him, laughing. He looped his arm over her shoulder and followed her out the door.

Around the corner, she turned him, pressed him into the wall. Her breath was hot on his neck, and suddenly he wanted to squirm right out of his skin. 

“Sweetie, are you ok?” Megan’s eyes were alight, her cheeks flushed with the alcohol. 

“I’m great,” he choked. “Just a little bit drunk.” 

He was more than a little bit drunk, and he shouldn’t have told her. She was probably going to make him food, like mac and cheese or some gross frozen pizza. It was going to be shit for his diet, and he was going to be able to feel it jostling around in his stomach when he was fucking her later.

She practically dragged him over the threshold of her home, sat him on the couch, and popped a bowl of leftover cous cous into the microwave. He was too drunk to protest, or maybe too sad and confused.

He let her feed him half of it, but eventually he lost his patience, turned away, and stumbled upstairs. He could still hear her puttering around the kitchen, and he wondered if he could reasonably fall asleep before she came back. 

There was water on her night stand, and he chugged it in one. When he set the glass down, she was right there in front of him, a glint in her blue eyes.

His head was spinning when she pressed him down into the sheets. He kneaded her ass with his palms, desperately willing himself hard. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m just a little drunk.”

“Oh,” she said, sitting up. “Do you want to-“

“No, no, I’m fine, keep going,” he said hurriedly, pulling her back down to him. She stripped his shirt and unbuckled his jeans, covered his limp dick with her little warm hand. 

“You’re going to need some extra attention tonight,” she laughed. He wiggled out of his boxers too, and laid back on the bed before he got too dizzy. 

Before he knew it, her mouth was on him, sucking and swirling. _Oh, wow._

He might have been drunk, might not have really been in the mood for sex with her, but the feeling of a tongue rubbing the tip of his cock got him every time. He worked his fingers into her hair, and lost himself in her. 

She pulled off, and he roughly pushed her down to the bed. 

“Do you need-“ he started to whisper.

“Just get _in_ me Eric,” she hissed. He laughed, and kissed her gently, twisting one of her nipples between his fingers. He took himself in hand, gave it a couple quick jerks, and lined it up. He could feel her against his fingers, wet and warm and just a little bit swollen with want.

It struck him how much she must have been waiting for this. He’d barely even touched her.

He closed his eyes, _pressed._

_Oh my God._

Dele’s brown eyes swam before his, and a gasp escaped his lips. 

_No, not again, please._

It was alright when it was someone else, wasn’t it? But not Megan. _Megan, who you love._ His fingers trailed helplessly down her back, and Dele’s brown skin flashed before his shut eyes. _Megan, who’s always been there for you._ He forced his eyes open. Her blonde hair, pale skin.

For a second, he was right there with her, holding her sweet face between his hands, watching her blush with pleasure as he slid up inside her. And then it was all too much, so mortifyingly intimate, he felt himself soften in an instant. He couldn’t help it.

“Eric?” 

Eric buried his face in her shoulder. She sounded wounded, and he didn’t want to face it. 

“Come on, it’s ok, I’m ready,” Eric whispered. 

_You’re absolutely not going to imagine fucking him while you’re inside her._

He felt himself start to go soft again, watched that horrible question appear behind Megan’s eyes. 

_Fuck it._

He buried his face in her neck, latched his teeth onto the soft part. _Dele._ Fingers stroking Eric’s hair, trailing through the sweat on the back of his neck. Eric’s mouth, closing soft around Dele’s hard, brown nipple. Dele opening for him, Dele whimpering. Dele’s hips, bucking back. His skin. _Oh God, his skin._ So good, so wet, Eric felt himself swell into numbness, into pleasure. Dele clenched around him, hard, _he was definitely going to,_ oh, _oh-_

_Oh, Dele. Oh, Dele, Dele, Dele, Dele._

Eric let out a long exhale, eyes squeezed tight shut trying desperately to hold on to the notion that it was Dele clenching around him, _Dele’s mouth, maybe,_ cradling his gently throbbing cock as he came down. 

But it couldn’t last. He felt Megan’s small hand move from between them, where she’d been touching herself. Eric opened his eyes and ran a hand down her back. Megan smiled.

“I love you,” she whispered, eyes wide and sweet. _At least she came, too._ Eric whispered the words back, but when he rolled off her, all he could feel was Dele, and a shameful knot, deep in his gut.

_What have you done to me?_

By the next morning, the knot of shame loosened, and relief started to flood in. He’d made her come, at least _sort of._ Sure, she’d been touching herself, hand working quickly between their bodies, but that still counted, right? And most importantly, she didn’t know, didn’t suspect. He was so overcome with relief, he decided to treat her to a fancy tea. 

He watched her skip down the lane just ahead of him, head in the clouds. She was so cute. _How could I ever leave her?_

She smiled up at him, hand in his. He studied her as she chattered away over the tiny scones and sandwiches, sipped her champagne delicately, dragged her toe up his calf under the table. 

Eric’s heart twisted in his chest a little bit, because she was just as beautiful as that girl he’d slept with last month after Dele had left them alone. And smart, so smart and charming. So why couldn’t he just love her like a normal person? Why did he have to bury himself in a mountain of white powder to feel alright? 

Megan picked up a tiny croissant filled with some kind of citrus cream, and put it to his face. 

“Come on, Eric, bite!” 

She laughed, and her voice floated like tiny bells throughout the shop.

He did, but the dry, flaky pastry caught in his throat and he started to cough.

“Excuse me.”

He could feel her eyes on him as he slunk off to the toilet, clearing his throat one more time for good measure. 

Eric leaned his head against the mirror. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ He wondered if it’d just be easier to end it. Maybe he’d feel better if he wasn’t beholden to Megan anymore. Maybe he’d have less of a reason to escape. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and absentmindedly he answered it. 

“Where are you?” 

It was Dele, and there was something off in his voice. He couldn’t quite place it. He sounded distant, even more than usual. But that was just how his voice sounded over the phone. Eric shook his head.

“I’m ah, home, with my mother. Cheltenham,” he said. He stifled a cough with the back of his hand.

“Funny,” Dele continued. He’d managed to force so much bite into that one word, Eric nearly recoiled from the phone. “Cause Harry, he’s got a mate over at some League Two club in Essex.”

Eric’s breath puffed out in a little sigh of relief, he couldn’t help it. 

“Oh no, wait, it’s Cambridge.” 

His heart stopped. Vaguely, he registered Dele continuing.

“He’s there, visiting his mate right now. Says he could have sworn he saw you in a tea shop earlier, with a girl. You wouldn’t believe what his mate said.” 

“Dele,” Eric said.

“He said,” Eric waited while Dele took several deep breaths. “That’s Megan, see her around now and then. Funny how her boyfriend looks just like Eric Dier, isn’t it?”

Eric meant to laugh, drop an easy excuse, but his brain just wouldn’t kick into gear. He felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead.

“That why you asked me for the rest of the cocaine this weekend, huh Eric?”

He swallowed.

“I still have it. What else would I do with it? I didn’t give it to you because I thought you were going home. I was right miffed. How could you ask me that? Perfect Eric, needs to cut through the misery of spending a whole weekend with his perfect family.” 

Eric closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought about how that would sound to Dele. Hadn’t cared. 

“You know better than to ask me that,” Dele spat.

He could hear Dele breathing heavily across the line, his own heart pounding heavily in his chest. He did know better than that. 

“But that’s not right, is it? You need it to get through the weekend with your perfect girlfriend. Cambridge gal, yeah? She smart? Smarter than you?”

Eric bit his lip. 

“But not smart enough to know what you get up to back in London, huh?”

“Dele, _stop it,”_ Eric said, finally finding his voice.

“Yeah, no, where do you get off cheating on her? It’s not right, man, does she know what you do?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eric hissed through clenched teeth. It was a lie; Dele had him pegged. But he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ go there. Not with Dele. Not then. 

“Nah, man, I thought-“ Dele’s voice cracked, saturated with emotion. “It ain’t right. It ain’t _fucking_ right.”

“Why do you even care, Dele?”

“Care? Why do I care?” Dele’s voice rose, so high Eric winced. Eric didn’t know what he would do if Dele started to cry.

“Dele-“

“You’re the best mate I’ve ever _had,”_ and Eric’s ears picked up a sob, but his brain refused to process it. 

“Ever,” Dele continues. “You’re supposed to- I’m not going to let you-“ 

There was silence, and then the line went dead. Dele had just hung up on him, leaving Eric to stare at his own reflection in the mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> More coming, but I'll be slow about getting it up.


End file.
